


The 221B Baker Street Family

by Strange_johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Baby Watson, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, One Big Happy Family, Parentlock, Smut, a little smut, back to 221b, rosie ships Johnlock, what comes after the final problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2018-09-19 20:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9459287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock
Summary: “Oh, no, love bug. Daddy and Sherlock don’t kiss each other.”(first 5 chapters main story + three bonus chapters)This story is now finished





	1. So, You Have Thought about Kissing Me Before?

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say, Rosie ships Johnlock :P  
> English is my second language, so bear with me please  
> Beta by the wonderful AuntieMabel and by Amelia. Thank you both so much!
> 
>  
> 
> Anyone interested in writing a longer Johnlock fanfiction with me? I would love to. contact me pleaase :D

Angelo’s hadn’t changed at all. Same lampshades, the same paintings on the wall, even the waitress seemed familiar. John didn’t remember the last time they’d been here, but it must have been years ago. Before Sherlock had died. 

John refused to think about that. This was a special day. He had just moved back into Baker Street a month ago and this was the first day John got off work early enough to go out with Rosie without risking her falling asleep in the middle of their dinner. Angelo’s was the obvious choice for tonight, the perfect place to celebrate a new beginning. The three of them as a strange kind of family. To be honest, John felt relieved when he realised that Angelo was not working tonight, too many comments about Sherlock and him dating and who would believe them that they didn’t, now that they had shown up with a toddler. 

Rosie enjoyed her noodles, decorating the tray and floor with half of them and John’s heart filled with joy to see her happy. It was wonderful to have her back with him; he had missed her in the months since Mary’s death and still felt guilty for leaving her, but if he was honest with himself, he was only now emotionally stable enough to take care of her again. 

“You’ll have to teach her table manners.” Sherlock looked straight at John.

“She’ll have you as a role model, Mr. I’ll-eat-anywhere-but-the-table.”

John caught Rosie’s sippy cup midflight and put it back in front of her. 

“I’m sitting at a table right now.” John smiled at the serious look on Sherlock’s face.

“And you are actually eating. I am so proud of you, Sherlock Holmes.” They smiled at each other and continued eating. John felt happy and content. He loved the adventures and the dangers that were part of the life with Sherlock, but it felt good to know that the two people he loved most were safe. Not only safe but seemingly happy themselves. 

“Dada. You.” Rosie held one of her noodles towards him and John smiled at her.  
“Thank you, that is very kind of you, love bug.” Rosie beamed at her father and continued eating. Then she suddenly stopped, grabbed another noodle and held it out to Sherlock.  
“Ro’ie. ‘Erlock, eat. ”  
John had never seen Sherlock smile like this before. The detective took the noodle from the little fingers like it was one of the most precious thing in the world.  
“Thank you, Rosamund.”  
“Eat.” Rosie looked at the detective with a facial expression that a one year old should not be capable of.  
Sherlock followed her order, still smiling. “She is a real Watson.”

The gist of happiness, it was right here with him. 

They finished dinner and walked back to Baker Street. It was still light out, but John was sure it would be dark by the time they reached home, because Rosie had decided she wanted to walk home, her tiny little hands closed around John’s middle finger on the right and Sherlock’s pinky finger on the left. John caught people smiling at them and realized he was smiling too and so was the detective next to him. Family. The 221B Baker Street family.  
He had to carry Rosie for the last ten minutes of the walk, because she was in danger of falling asleep walking. 

 

Back in the flat, John helped Rosie out of her jacket and shoes. She clung to his neck, which made each a harder task than it should be. 

“I’ll put the little Miss in her bed. Say good night to Sherlock, love bug.” 

The toddler yawned and reached her arms out for Sherlock. His flat mate picked her up and she pursed her lips at him. Sherlock kissed her good night and she giggled, grabbing his curls.  
“Goo’ night, ‘erlock’”

“A good night to you, too.”

John took Rosie from Sherlock. 

“Dada. Night. ‘Erlock.”

John kissed his daughters forehead and nodded. “Of course, how could I forget? Good night, Sherlock.”, he said, knowing that he would return downstairs once the princess was asleep.

“No, no. Dada kiss.” Rosie pouted and John hid his face in her hair, because kissing Sherlock good night was all he wanted to do, for the rest of his life.  
“Oh, no, love bug. Daddy and Sherlock don’t kiss each other.”  
Rosie looked at her father in utter shock and then her lips started trembling. John knew what was going to happen and once Rosie started crying, it would take hours to make her stop. 

“Sweetheart,” Sherlock’s voice was soft and Rosie turned her head towards him. John had never heard him using an endearment and it warmed his heart. The detective took a step towards them and then his mouth was pressed against John’s. The kiss lasted less than a second, Sherlock’s lips warm and dry. John closed his eyes, opening them again when he heard Rosie squealed happily. 

“Kiss,” She said, as if to say: “See, this wasn’t that hard, stupid daddy.”

“Good night, John.”  
John forced himself to smile, while his brain tried to process what just happened. Sherlock had kissed him. Only to stop Rosie from throwing a tantrum, but still, a kiss. He should not been shaken as much as he was by it.

 

John took Rosie to the bedroom they now shared and got her ready for bed, she was surprisingly cooperative tonight and drifted off to sleep after only twenty minutes. John thought about going to bed himself, to avoid Sherlock, but decided against it. His best friend would know he had something to hide, if he went to sleep as early as 9 pm. 

So he went back downstairs to find the living room empty. John sighed in relieve and went to the fridge to fetch himself something to drink. No human remains today. Good.  
John leaned against the kitchen table, careful not to disturb Sherlock's current experiment. 

“John?”

Sherlock had changed into his pajamas and his dressing gown. John took a deep breath before looking at him.  
“You realize she is going to make us kiss every night now, right?” Oh god, why did he bring that topic up, why torture himself like that? Sherlock had probably already deleted it. 

“She is very keen on rituals, isn’t she?” Sherlock took the glass out of John’s hand and took a sip of the orange juice.  
“Oi! Get your own glass, Mister.”

Sherlock ignored him. The glass, still half full, was put on the table somewhere behind to John a movement that brought Sherlock way too close. Not close enough. 

For the second time this evening, he was surprised by Sherlock’s lips on his. Tender, soft, moving slowly, but oh so sure of what they were doing. And by god, John was not able to do anything but to give into their touch, to respond to the kiss with his own. His hands found the sides of Sherlock’s neck and his thumbs followed the lines of his jaw. This should have happened years ago, John realizes and the love, that had been trapped in a far corner of his heart, denied, ignored, now broke free, filled his whole being. He didn’t even try to stop it, not that he could. 

The kiss remained tender, almost innocent, a mere string of light touches, lips, no tongues or teeth. And John felt torn between keeping it that way and turning them both around and fucking Sherlock against the kitchen table. 

Sherlock broke away from the kiss, pressing their foreheads together, rubbing his nose against John’s.  
“This…” Sherlock’s thumb ghosted over John’s lips, his mouth following moments later, as if he couldn’t wait until the end of his sentence to kiss him again. John didn’t mind at all. 

“This is… what I imagined our first kiss to be. Well, something close to this.”

“Hmmm…” John kissed the corner of his mouth, up the wonderful cheekbones and buried his face in Sherlock’s hairline next to his ear. His hair felt even softer than it looked and god, the smell of it, addictive.

The detective closed his arms around him, pressing their bodies together in a tight hug, while John's hand rested on the other man’s chest, trying to process the fact that Sherlock loved him as much he did love his consulting detective.

“So, you have thought about kissing me before?”

Sherlock chuckled and John shivered, as the detective's fingers started moving over his clothed back. He could get used to hugs like this, well, to be honest, he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to live without them.

“Well, it’s a sort of hobby of mine. One I spent a lot of time on over the last years, especially when I was bored.”

John couldn’t keep himself from smiling, thinking about all the times they had just sat around in their flat, Sherlock in his Mind Palace, thinking about snogging. He moved, so that he was able to look at Sherlock. The honesty in his best friend’s words and face overwhelmed him and he pressed his mouth to Sherlock’s again, in a kiss more desperate, more passionate than the one before. John licked the plump, pale lips and they opened for him, giving access to a wonderful, wet and warm mouth and an agile, fast learning tongue. The sweet taste of Sherlock, contrasted by the sour juice.

They clung to each other, hands roaming every part of the other's body, that they could reach, disappointed to not find enough naked skin.  
Sherlock’s greediness surprised John, but then, when Sherlock decided something was worth doing, he was in one hundred percent. And this, them, was worth everything. 

When they parted, their lips were swollen and they were gasping for air. 

“Can we make a deal here, Sherlock? The next time you’re bored, can you just kiss me, instead of imagining it?”  
Sherlock brushed a strand of hair out of John’s face. 

“I don’t need to be bored to be willing to kiss you, John, do keep up.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Very glad.”

“Can you stop talking now?”

“To do what?”

“Oh, isn’t that obvious?” 

“I’m not the genius here.”

“Oh, now you’re teasing me.”

“That’s all I ever do.”

They kissed between giggles, or giggled between kisses, who knew, and John loved every second of it.

“Let’s move the snogging to the sofa, love. The table is getting uncomfortable.”

A light kiss to his left eyebrow. “I think it would be best if you went to sleep. You have work tomorrow and Rosie did not let you sleep more than five hours last night.” 

“Hmm. Snogging still sounds better than sleeping.”

He pushed Sherlock away from him carefully and stepped away from the table.

“And I still have an experiment to finish.” Sherlock avoided looking at him. 

“Ah. That’s more like it.” John finished his drink and stepped to the sink, to wash out the glass.

“Work is still important. Kissing isn’t going to change who I am, John.”

“No, changing you was hard, yearlong work.”

He smiled at the detective, who had taken his place at the kitchen table, looking at the other man intensely.  
“And I know work is important, don’t worry. As long as we keep our deal, I am totally fine. Meaning, you can kiss me whenever you feel like it. “  
He kissed Sherlock reassuringly.  
“Good night, Sherlock.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but he smiled and John went to the bathroom and then to bed.  
Rosie was still sleeping and her soft, regular breaths lulled him to sleep.

 

He woke up to a soft knock at the door.  
He mumbled something about coming in and turned to lying on his back, so he could look towards the door. Well, not that he was able to see much so soon after waking up in a room almost completely dark, except for the dim light over Rosie’s bed. 3:21 in the morning.  
Sherlock moved almost shyly, still dressed in his pajamas and robe. 

“John?”

John lifted his head to look at him. “Hmm?”

“Can I sleep here with you?”

“Sure. Come here.”

The robe fell to the floor, the duvet was lifted and John rolled over to lie facing his best friend or whatever Sherlock was to him now.  
They exchanged a few lazy kisses and John felt like they had been doing this all along. Kissing was still exciting, of course, but it also felt so familiar, like it was meant to happen. 

“We’ll need to talk about this.”

“Not now.”

“No, not now.” John agreed.

They fell asleep, foreheads almost touching, one arm slung around the friend, the lover.

 

Someone dragged their whole body over John to get to the other side of the bed. John’s first instinct was to throw them of, to defend himself, until he heard Rosie giggling in her bed and Sherlock's groans, as the detective realised that the way across his boyfriend was the shortest, but not the easiest way to get to the waking baby.  
“Rosamund.” It was the most wonderful thing in the world to hear Sherlock speak to his daughter with such love. Their daughter. 

The two curly-heads returned to bed, Rosie loved morning cuddles and John had to refuse them more often than he would have liked. Working as a doctor meant getting up early and one look at the clock proved, that he had ten more minutes at the most, before he needed to shower and leave for work  
.  
There she was, Rosamund Mary Watson, lying in between them on the duvet, giggling, as Sherlock's long, pale fingers tickled her belly, seeking refuge in John’s arms, but returning, whenever that made Sherlock stop.

“Do you think she knew?”

Sherlock raised his left eyebrow.

“I doubt that a child her age knows about romantic love.”

John opened his arms and Rosie clung unto him in pretend despair, eyes wet with laughter. He kissed he forehead, looking at Sherlock.  
“Love?”

“Of course, John. Love. You are utterly slow in the morning.”

Rosie tried to stand up on wobbly legs, which proved to be extra hard on the soft mattress. It gave John the chance to lean in and kiss Sherlock.  
“One day, when Rosie is sleeping up here and we are in your bed, I’m going to show you how good ‘slow in the morning’ can be.”

With that, he picked up Rosie and went downstairs to begin their morning.


	2. Daddy and I will spend the day kissing each other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hmm. Do you think we will be able to have a lifelong relationship?”  
> Sherlock kissed the spot behind his ear. “After all we have gone through, all that you have forgiven me for? Of course we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your lovely comments <3 They make my day

John spent the next three days wrapped up in Sherlock and Rosie, only leaving for work. When he had moved back to Baker Street, the plan had been for Mrs. Hudson to babysit her, when John was gone. Every time he went to 221A to get her, she was already upstairs and had been for hours. John was surprised to find his best friend so fascinated by his daughter and thought, Sherlock may tire of her one day. He didn’t, quite the contrary. John could almost watch the love between the two of them grow. Sherlock was the person Rosie spent most of her time with, as she went to bed soon after John came home in the evening. A second father rather than a babysitter.  
To avoid Sherlock stealing the toddler form their landlady day after day, Rosie now stayed upstairs with Sherlock, he loved playing with her and reading to her, he tended to his experiments, when she napped. Whenever Lestrade called, he brought her downstairs to Mrs. Hudson, who invited friends to show her off.  
John would come home around five and take care of dinner. Rosie was not a picky eater at all, willing to try everything her fathers ate. She had banned baby food long ago and preferred fruit tea to water. Sherlock mostly spend the time after dinner thinking on the sofa, so John could spend time alone with his daughter. 

Rosie went to bed at about eight and for the last three days snogging on the sofa had become a new ritual. John had kissed a lot of people before, but the mixture of tenderness and desire in Sherlock’s kisses made his head spin and his heart ache sweetly. Still, he had not allowed himself to go any further than snogging, had even blocked Sherlock’s attempts to do so. God, he wanted nothing more than to touch Sherlock, to be touched by him, but they had both waited so long and now that they had finally found each other, John wanted their first time together to be something special, not a hurried hand job on the sofa with a toddler upstairs and a landlady with extraordinary hearing downstairs.  
So snogging it was, watching a movie that neither of them could remember afterwards. Sherlock seemed to be rather fond of holding hands, doing so, whenever he could, which made daily task more complicated, but John didn’t mind at all. And to his own surprise, he didn’t mind showing his affection towards the detective at all, kissing and hugging him in front of Rosie and Mrs. Hudson. He had never been with a man before and he should be somewhat hesitant, but things with Sherlock felt so natural that he did not even think about it, at least not inside their flat. Outing himself, telling people at the yard or work would be different and he wanted to wait a little more to do so.

They held hands at night. Sherlock had complained about how hot and sweaty spooning made him feel, so they slept an arm's length apart, connected by their intertwined fingers. Rosie was so used to sharing a room with her father and John did not dare to leave her alone at night quite yet. She woke up once or twice a night and John wanted to be there for her, show her that he always would be there. So Sherlock slept upstairs with them, crawling into bed in the wee hours of the morning.  
John woke up in the morning of their fourth day as a couple to find that he was alone. The sheets next to him were already cold and Rosie’s little bed empty. 8:30. John almost jumped out of bed, wrapping himself in his dressing gown, before he remembered that it was Saturday. No work today. Just the three of them.  
He could hear voices and went downstairs to find a woman with grayish hair and a horrible floral dress sitting in the living room. Opposite to her, Sherlock in his chair, still wearing his pajamas and robe, and in John’s armchair little Miss Rosie Watson, watching the woman with a seriousness that a one and a half year old should not possess.  
John nodded at the client and as soon as Rosie saw him, her face lit up.  
“Dada.” She managed to get out of the chair and ran towards him. He kissed her nose.  
“Good morning, love bug. Did you sleep well?”  
She looked at him and moved her little hand to his mouth. “Shh. Dada. ’erlock. Work.”  
He smiled and kissed her again.  
“Do go on.” Sherlock opened his eyes to look at the client. The woman had stopped talking, smiling at John and Rosie.  
“Come on, little one. We’ll eat something and let Sherlock work.”  
Rosie shook her head. “Rosie help. ‘erlock say always Wat’on here.” She pointed at the chair.  
“Then I’ll be making breakfast, while you two solve the case.” John walked over to his chair and set his daughter down. He leaned over to press a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek, in front of a client, without even thinking about it. The consulting detective did not open his eyes, but John could see him smile for a second.  
He went to the kitchen, made tea and toast and turned around, when little bare feet moved towards him. Rosie looked adorable in her white pajamas with the yellow flowers on them, her blond curls still messy from sleep.  
“Oh, are you already finished helping?”  
He lifted her into her high chair.  
“Boring.”  
John smiled at his daughter. “You spent too much time with Sherlock.”  
They started eating, the woman was still talking and from time to time, Sherlock made frustrated noises.  
“Your boyfriend is not cheating. He is transgender.”  
A gasp.  
“The woman he is meeting every week is his therapist. He hasn’t found a way to tell you yet. Once you get over your initial transphobic thoughts, you and he could be very happy. He wants something serious.”  
“But…”  
“Detective Sherlock Holmes. Not therapist or life coach. So get out of my flat so I can spend time with my family.”

The woman left and Sherlock joined them in the kitchen, surprising John by eating all of the toast he had put in front of him.  
“The young Miss Watson will spend her day at Mrs. Hudson’s today. The two ladies have plans to go to the park and visit Mrs. Turner after.”  
“Oh? That sounds lovely. And what will we be doing? Has Lestrade texted you?”  
John had started cleaning the kitchen, being keener on keeping everything in order, now that there was a child in the house.  
Sherlock's hot lips pressed against his neck as he purred into his ear. “You and I do have plans, but I would prefer to keep Lestrade out of them.”  
“Hmmm. I think he would prefer that too.”  
John turned around to get his first kiss of the day, lazy and sweet, the promise of so much more lingering underneath the innocent touches. “I am willing to try a lot of things, sexually, with you. A un ménage à trois is not one of them.”  
“We are not discussing sex in front of the baby. But don’t worry. You and I will be enough for a lifetime.”  
“Good.” Sherlock kissed his nose and then turned around to pick up Rosie. “We are going to get you ready now, Rosamund.”  
The little girl grabbed one of his curls. “Daddy Sherlock come?”  
“Oh no, Mrs. Hudson and you will be alone for the day. Daddy and I will spend the day kissing each other.”  
With that, the two of them went off to the bathroom. John kept cleaning the kitchen. God, he was excited. And nervous. He had never been with a man before, hadn’t even seen Sherlock naked yet. Well, not in the last three days that was. They would figure it out. Together. Kissing had worked out just fine, no, fantastically and so would the sex. At least that was what he told himself.  
The two curly heads returned and John brought Rosie upstairs to change her nappy and clothes. Downstairs again, he dressed her in her green shoes and jacket and decided to let her play for a few more minutes.  
He just stood there, watched her, smiling at her.  
Long arms, clothed in a sand coloured robe wrapped themselves around his middle and wet lips found his neck. John leaned into Sherlock and for a moment, they silently watched their daughter play with her blocks.  
“I don’t think she should call you Sherlock anymore.”  
“It’s my name.”  
“I know that, genius. It’s just, you are raising her as much as I am. You should be dad too. Or daddy, as I am dada.”  
“Papa.” Sherlock said and John realized, he had thought about this before.  
“Papa it is.”  
Sherlock buried his nose in John’s hair and John could feel him smile against the back of his head.  
Another thought crossed his mind.  
“You never told a client to continue a relationship before.”  
“None of my clients presented themselves as being able to lead a lifelong relationship before.”  
Rosie had started to build a tower out of red blocks, before tearing it down again. Then she started with the green ones.  
“Hmm. Do you think we will be able to lead a lifelong relationship?”  
Sherlock kissed the spot behind his ear. “After all we have gone through, all that you have forgiven me for? Of course we will.”  
John covered the hands on his belly with his own, smiling to himself. Images crossed his mind, of the both of them, old and grey, sitting on the terrace in front of their small house, still holding hands. Maybe, they could really love each other that long. Until the end. But there still was a big step left to go. They already shared a flat and a bed, had a child, worked together, but sex was as important to a relationship as emotion. What if he messed up?  
Sherlock read his mind.  
“You should not worry about later. The lovers you had over the last years, all of them had different… sexual needs. Still, none ever left Baker Street unsatisfied. I trust in your abilities.”  
“I’m not worried…” John turned around in Sherlock’s arms.  
“You are. Your shoulders have tensed and you have that lovely little wrinkle right here.” The cool fingers followed the lines on John’s forehead  
“Okay. I am worried. I… it’s just… I have never been with a man before and this, us, is the most important relationship of my life. So, yeah, I am a little nervous. But I haven’t been this excited about sex with someone for a long time either. For the same reasons.”  
He looked up to smile at Sherlock and they kissed for a while, as towers trembled and fell.  
“Mrs. Hudson just finished hovering. I think we can bring Rosamund downstairs.”  
John nodded and called out for his daughter.  
“It’s time to visit Nana, love bug.”  
The little one squealed and got to her feet, running towards her fathers. John picked up her diaper bag and she held his hand as they went down the stairs slowly, each step another challenge for Rosie. When they finally arrived at 221A, Mrs. Hudson had already put her coat and shoes on. She smiled at the three of them and John only now realized that they were still wearing pajamas. No doubt that their landlady knew what they were about to do. He was already looking forward to the questioning.  
They waved the two ladies goodbye and returned to the flat. As soon as the door closed behind them, Sherlock pressed his mouth to John's in a devouring kiss, giving him no chance to worry. They barely made it to the bed, before they started rubbing against each other in devastating need. Sherlock on top of him, straddling his hips, John’s hands on the round cheeks of the detective’s arse. Hard, fast moves, sloppy kisses and shared, hot breath. They came into their pants like teenagers, still fully clothed.  
They cleaned themselves in the bathroom.  
Afterwards, John took his time to undress the man he loved, slowly, praising every inch of naked, pale skin with his lips and tongue. God, even Sherlock’s sweat tasted like perfection. John loved discovering the erogenous zones on Sherlock’s body, the detective was so wonderfully responsive, every emotion mirrored on his beautiful face.  
John took his time to prepare him. They had all the time in the world, now that they had taken the edge of. Fascinating, how the body beneath him made way for his fingers.  
Hot and tight around him.  
They found their rhythm after a few thrust, slow and burning. They fell and learned that they could fly if they only held each other tight enough.  
They were perfect together.

 

Lestrade called minutes after John had finally found a way of leaning against Sherlock comfortably in their tiny bathtub. He cursed, when the detective grabbed his phone and answered the call, then closed his eyes and tried to ignore what the DI said about murder and missing body parts. He combed his fingers through the water next to their hips, splashing some in Sherlock’s direction every so often to get his attention back, but the detective was in work mode.  
“Does she still have her ring fingers?”  
“Yes. Both. It’s the thumbs and middle fingers that have been cut off on each hand.”  
“Wedding ring?”  
“Christ, Sherlock. She was cut into pieces, I haven’t looked at her jewelry.”  
“God, you are forcing me to leave the bathtub to have a look for myself… And John doesn’t look too pleased about that.”  
So much about waiting with coming out.  
“Why would John… oh never mind. I’ll text you the address of the crime scene.”  
Sherlock hung up and let himself sink deeper into the water, drawing John closer to himself.  
“He will have to wait five minutes longer.”

 

Lestrade said nothing about the bathtub incident and Sherlock was too busy to think about holding hands at the crime scene.  
Both the man and the woman were killed in an old warehouse, missing fingers and their ears. The wedding ring was still there, stuffed into a deep wound on the woman’s chest. John had seen a lot of blood in his life, but this was brutal. And John felt like he could not do anything to help. The cause of death was obvious. Stabbed. Even Anderson could have seen that.  
They spend hours looking at evidence and John called Mrs. Hudson around seven to make sure, that Rosie could stay at her flat over night.  
His daughter looked forward to the sleepover, but insisted on speaking to both John and Sherlock on the phone before going to sleep, even with her limited knowledge of words.  
“Dada.”, she squealed and John’s heart grew a little larger just hearing her voice. Oh how he missed her.  
“Hello, love bug. Have you been a good girl for Mrs. Hudson so far?”  
“Yes.”  
“That’s what I wanted to hear. You know, Sherlock and I have to work. Will you be okay with staying at Nana’s over night?”  
“Yes. Dada. Nana.”  
“Good girl. Do you want to talk to Sherlock?”  
“Yes. ‘Erlock.”  
John went to look for his partner. The consulting detective was arguing with Donovan about something, when John found him, his daughter still babbeling on the phone.  
“Sherlock? Rosie wants to say good night.”  
Sherlock raised his hand, still in blood covered gloves. “Put her on speaker.”  
John did.  
“Hello Rosamund.” Sherlock’s voice became so much softer, once he spoke to the little girl.  
“’Erlock. Dada. Work.”  
“Yes. Your Daddy and I are working tonight.”  
“Ro’ie Nana work too.”  
John noticed Sally’s confused look and smiled to himself. She had misjudged the consulting detective from the first moment on and now it seemed to dawn on her just how much.  
“I am sure you are. Listen, Rosamund. Daddy and I have to help Lestrade to find a bad guy. We will talk to you tomorrow. Okay?”  
“Yes. Okay.”  
“Very well. Good night, sweetheart. I love you.”  
“Ro’ie love ‘erlock too. Love Dada. Night.”  
“I love you too, love bug. Good night. Be good for Mrs. Hudson.” John wiped a tear from his cheek and ended the call. His little girl deserved everything good in this world and he would do anything to keep things like this murder from her, knowing that with all the influence Sherlock had on her, she would probably want to investigate.  
“I love her.” Sherlock mumbled next to him, as if he had just realized that.  
“You do. And now let’s solve this case, so we can go back home to her, my genius.”  
“Yes. Case.” Sherlock shook his head, as if to clear it and walked back to the bodies.

 

They came home way after midnight. John was tempted to get Rosie to hold her in his arms and forget about the gruesome deaths, but he didn’t want to wake her or Mrs. Hudson.  
He clung to Sherlock, kissing the long, pale neck. His partner was still all caught up in the case, not paying much attention. John knew that he would not eat or sleep until he found the murderer.  
“Can I do anything to help?”  
“Go to sleep, John. I will be working on the case tomorrow and you will need all your energy for Rosamund.”  
John stole a kiss and went to Sherlock’s room. He fell asleep immediately.

They made sweet, lazy love in the morning, Sherlock straddling his hips, moaning into his mouth.  
Mrs. Hudson brought Rosie upstairs half an hour later and John spent the day with his daugther at the playground. When they returned in the evening, the case was solved, the mistress arrested. They fell asleep on the sofa, all three of them, curled up around each other. They were perfect together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am already working on part III, because we deserve all the fluff in the world after season 4


	3. Pirates are Cool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your husband is a handsome young fellow, Doctor Watson.”
> 
> “He is handsome. Not my husband yet. Well, I will ask him tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wedding bells :D  
> Thank you so much for all of your comments. I hadn't expected this much love from you guys and it makes me really happy <3

Rosie grew and learned something new every day, way too fast for John’s liking. The next year in Baker Street was filled with love and laughter, fights and cases, experiments and biscuits. Rosie was a bright little girl, keeping her fathers busy at all times. John loved every second of it and for the first time in his life, things were as they were supposed to be.

There was just one thing left to do. John had bought the ring three weeks ago when Sherlock has had been away for a case in Scotland for three days, a small, silver band with an engraved skull. He had given it to Mrs. Hudson for safe keeping.

He would ask him tonight and that was why he couldn’t really concentrate on work right now. Good thing was that Mrs. Fletcher came to see him for human interaction more than medical advice. He was just looking at her foot, when they were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

“Come in.” he said, expecting a nurse.

Sherlock looked stressed. Rosie was sleeping in her pushchair.

“I… Lestrade called and Mrs. Hudson is out so… I thought I could bring her here, as your shift is ending in half an hour. I am sorry. If that is inconvenient for you, I’ll just go home and Lestrade can solve a case on his own for once.”

John stood up, smiling apologetically at Mrs. Fletcher. “No, you don’t have to. It’s fine. Just … bring her over to the counter. Tanja will look after her until I'm finished. Go off, solve a crime.”

Sherlock smiled at him. “I will.”

He moved the push chair out of the door.

“Will you make it to Angelo’s tonight?”

“I will try to.”

John wanted to kiss him, but felt it would be unprofessional in front of a patient.

“See you tonight.”

He closed the door and turned back to Mrs. Flechter, who smiled openly at him.

“Your husband is a handsome young fellow, Doctor Watson.”

“He is handsome. Not my husband yet. Well, I will ask him tonight.”

“And he will most definitely say yes.”

“You think?”

He helped her back into her shoe and she stood up, still limping.

“Oh, yes, Doctor. He adores you. I can see it in his eyes.”

John smiled at that and prayed that the criminals in London were even more stupid than usual tonight, so that the case would be solved by eight.

 

They were back at Angelo’s, exactly one year after the dinner that had changed their lives. John had spent twenty minutes to convincing Sherlock of the play group he wanted to put Rosie in, so she could meet children her age and make friends.

Sherlock didn’t like making friends, that’s why he didn’t like the idea.

“It’s only once a week. She will love it. And if she doesn’t, we won’t force her to go anymore.”

Sherlock took a sip of his wine. “I am still not convinced. She will find all the other children completely dull. But yes, we could try.”

“Great.” John sat back in his chair and reached into his pocket. He was convinced that Sherlock knew what he was about to do, still, he wanted this to be special.

“Now that I have you in an agreeing mood, there is something I want to ask you. We have talked about you adopting Rosie for a while. I want you to. But that is not what this is about. This is about us.”

He cleared his throat, smiling at Sherlock, who had stopped eating, suddenly shy. John held the ring between thumb and middle finger, hands shaking.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, my love, will you be my husband?”

Sherlock looked at him, face blank, and didn’t move for a whole minute, a minute that felt like hours. God, what had he done? Sherlock didn’t believe in marriage.

“Sherlock?”

“Under three conditions.”

“Sherlock.” John was half amused, half scared.

“That is not the answer I hoped for.”

“First: We’ll marry as soon as possible, so I can adopt Rosie. A small ceremony, Rosie, Mrs. Hudson, Greg, the two of us. Maybe my parents and brother.”

The consulting detective took his hand, closing his fingers around the ring.

“Second. No wedding rings. Tattoos.”

“Tattoos?”

“Yes. I would have to take my ring of every day, for cases, for experiment. I would eventually lose it. So matching tattoos.”

Angelo was standing suspiciously close to their table and if John would have had eyes for anything other than Sherlock, he would have seen the tears in his eyes.

“Third. I want another child.”

John’s mouth fell open.

“Another… Sherlock, you… a child?”

“Yes, John. I like the thought of us as a family of four.”

John squeezed his partner’s hand. A family of four. He had always wanted two or more children, but never considered the possibility that Sherlock would want something similar.

“There is a lot to think about, love. Time, money. We would need to move, probably. Not to forget that we can’t just go to the bedroom and make a child ourselves.”

“I know, John. Can we just agree that we will talk about the possibility? That we will try?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes, I’ll be happy to be your husband.”

Somehow, John managed to slip the ring onto Sherlock’s finger. He got up and walked around the table.

“Come here.”

He whispered and Sherlock stood up. They kissed hungrily, hands gripping tightly into the other's suit jackets. John wasn’t aware of the applause from the other guest and staff, or the fact that he was crying. All that mattered now was him kissing his fiancé, the great and wonderful Sherlock Holmes.

 

 

 

They had agreed on getting their tattoos a week before the wedding so that they would not be to swollen anymore during the ceremony. They had agreed on the placement, their ring fingers, right where the wedding band would be. They had agreed on the artist and set a date with her.

They were not able to find a symbol to represent their love. Even three days before their appointment they were still arguing about it.

John found the piece of paper while cleaning the kitchen table, it was stuck underneath Sherlock’s microscope. He noticed his fiancé's handwriting immediately.

_Why we are getting skull tattoos:_

_1\. John was meant to be a replacement for my skull_

_2\. He’s a doctor, I am a detective, professions that include knowledge about the human anatomy_

_~~3\. Pirates are cool.~~ _

_3\. We survived so much together. Both of us could have died, but didn’t_

_4\. We will be together until one of us dies._

 

He smiled. Sherlock would look amazing with a skull tattoo, delicious even. John probably not so much. Still, Sherlock had convinced him once more.

He felt the detective’s presence, before he saw him standing in the doorway, a tired child in arms. They had already brushed her teeth and braided her hair for the night, she was wearing lilac pajamas and her stuffed cat was pressed between her and Sherlock’s chests.

“The list was not finished yet.”

“Enough for me.” John folded the piece of paper carefully as Sherlock walked up to him. Rosie stretched her arms out for her daddy and John pressed her to his chest. She should have been in bed for more than an hour, but had refused to. Now sleep was taking the upper hand, but she would not give in without a fight.

“Hello, love bug. Did cuddling with Papa not help you to fall asleep?”

She shook her head, putting her arms around her father’s neck.

“I can’t really believe that. I have never met anyone who is as good at cuddling as your Papa. Except for you, of course.”

Rosie seemed to be too tired to answer. John balanced his daughter on his left hip, stroking her sweet little face with his right hand.

“Hmm. Let’s see. Do you want to sleep in Papa’s and Daddy’s bed tonight? Then the three of us can cuddle until you are asleep.”

She nodded, pressing her cat to her chest.

"Good.”

He made his way to the bedroom, Sherlock following them.

“I still have an experiment to attend to.”

“You can do that as soon as she is asleep.”

They laid in the dark for a while, Rosie between them, her tiny fist closed around the fabric of John’s shirt. Sherlock stroked her arm, slowly, lulling her to sleep. It took her five minutes to fall asleep and they stayed with her until they were sure she would not wake up again. John carefully freed his shirt from her grip and he and Sherlock removed themselves from the bedroom as silently as possible, now holding hands in the kitchen.

“You really like the skull idea.”

“I do. It will look great on you, make you even more mysterious. I will probably look ridiculous, but I will with any sort of tattoo.”

“It’s not about how the looks, John. It is a symbol to represent our love, as wedding rings usually do.”

A kiss to the cheek, then Sherlock moved passed him to the kitchen table.

“And your hand will look even more beautiful wrapped around my cock.”

The detective’s hands found Johns bum and squeezed the cheeks. He pressed a kiss to his nape, with a voice he knew would make his pants tighter.

“It’s your fault that there is a two year old in our bedroom right now. He could have practiced right now.”

John sighed. “Pity.” He said and meant it.

“It is. Take the bath you are craving. I might join you later, so we can put those skillful hands to use.”

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh dear. How did I bring that upon myself?”

“By being an utter arse all the time.”

“Get your arse into the bathtub, John Watson.”

John started unbuttoning his shirt right there in the kitchen, Sherlock’s eyes glued to him, when a little voice called from the bedroom.

“Daddy? Papa?”

“I will be with you in a second, love bug.”

John got rid of his button-down, still wearing a t-shirt underneath. He kissed his fiancé on the cheek.

“Good thing she’ll be at the play group tomorrow. And I have a day off.”

Sherlock smiled at him and John hurried to get to Rosie. He fell asleep next to her, which was his second favorite thing to do in a bed.

 

 

The Holmes parents arrived in London the day before the wedding. They stayed in a hotel not far from Baker Street and Rosie, who had never been in a hotel before, was excited to stay with them. It was Mrs. Hudson who had insisted on them spending the night apart, so John went to Greg’s at around eight. They had a beer or two, watched a movie and then John went to sleep on the sofa.

Well, he tried, but he was not used to sleeping alone anymore.

And Greg’s couch was not the most comfortable. So he lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

Married. He was getting married tomorrow, for the second time, this time to the right person. He had loved Mary and he was so thankful that she had given him Rosie. Tomorrow, he would marry the love of his life.

He followed the lines of his tattoo with his finger. Simple, black outlines that still burned a little, when he touched them. Sherlock’s was fancier, of course. More detail, black and grey shading. It looked sexy on him, like it was supposed to be here. His phone rang.

**Go to sleep. SH**

John smiled.

**Can’t. Too much to think about. Too excited.**

**We will only be signing papers. SH**

**Yes. Papers that will make you able to sign other papers that make you officially Rosie’s dad. And I can call you my husband after.**

**I agree, that sounds exciting. SH**

**Still not sleeping? SH**

**Can’t. Too used to holding your hand at night.**

**You have been avoiding the baby topic. You clearly have nothing else to do. So can we talk about it now? SH**

**I’m not avoiding it. We just had a wedding to plan and a two year old to keep up with. I want another baby, with you. Rather today than tomorrow. But it won’t be that easy.**

**Mycroft agreed to help with the process. SH**

**That’s great. Still, they don’t just give a child to anyone. We are two guys in their forties, we have a difficult past. That’s not what dream adopting parents are made out of**.

**We will love the child the way we love Rosamund. We will protect it and do our best to fulfill it’s every wish. Is that not enough? SH**

**It is for me. Probably won’t be for the social workers. They will want to know everything about us and they may find us not suitable. I just don’t want you to fall in love with the idea of a child and then get your heart broken, Sherlock.**

**I know our family is not less perfect without another child. I just want us to try. SH**

**And we will, darling. But for now, let’s get married and then you will adopt Rosie.**

**Agreed. SH**

**I love you, Sherlock.**

**Good night. I love you, too. Sleep well. SH**

 

And John did, he dreamed about another set of children’s feet on their kitchen floor.

 

Sherlock went up to Rosie’s room as soon as John left. Who ever had the idea, that one should be separated from their partner the night before the wedding was an idiot. He was tempted to go get their daughter so there was at least one Watson around him.

God, when had he lost the ability to be alone? He opened the door and for a second he expected Rosie to be asleep in her bed. He loved watching her sleep, it was so peaceful and cleared his mind, whenever it was racing.

He loved her. He had loved her since the day he first held her in his arms, small and fragile and full of new information with every new breath. Not only had his fascination with her grown over the weeks and months, but his desire to protect her, his love. He would have never even dared to dream that he would one day raise her as his own, to have her call him Papa.

He still insulted people, he still got bored, he still sulked over nothing and she loved him, unconditionally.

Rosie’s room was painted in a light, soft green. John had chosen white furniture and Rosie had chosen to draw on one side of her wardrobe with crayons. Mary’s picture stood on a shelf above her play chest, always watching over her daughter with a warm smile. Sherlock talked about her with Rosamund sometimes, she was too young to understand what death was, but she deserved to know, that she had a mother, a lovely, wonderful, funny mother. A mother that had given her life for Sherlock’s.

He still didn’t know why. All he could do was accept her gift and protect her child and husband, the man he was going to make his husband in a few hours.

He let himself fall to the floor, lying on the grey carpet, looking at the ceiling. Rosie’s bee mobile moved slightly. She still loved looking at it just before she fell asleep, when Sherlock or John were reading to her.

He loved her most when she was smiling; he wanted to give her reasons to smile every second of the day. It had never been in his nature to care for people, but he couldn’t help himself when it came to Rosie Watson.

Was he selfish for wanting another? A child he could love as much as he loved her? It was irrational, stupid even, but he could help it. Sherlock took his phone from his pocket and started typing.

**Go to sleep SH**

 

 

The ceremony was small, only the people closest to them were invited. John and Sherlock both wore black suits. Rosie looked lovely in her white and lilac dress, bows in her hair. They didn’t exchange rings, they just signed the papers and exchanged short vows. It was perfect. It suited them.

Mycroft’s present to them contained, next to way too much money, the adoption papers for Rosie and they signed them then and there. John cried and Sherlock smiled. Rosie threw the rest of the flowers she had in her little basket.

The lot of them ate at Angelo’s and Sherlock’s parents took Rosie with them afterwards, for a little holiday in Wales, so the newlyweds could have a honeymoon. The little girl cried at first, clinging to her Dad’s neck and John felt devastated, because he had made her sad, because he was selfish enough to want Sherlock for himself for a few days. But wonderful, sweet and patient Mrs. Holmes convinced her to come with them. Well, what little girl was able to resist ponies?

John hugged her tightly and she kissed his nose, like he often did with her.

“Don’t be sad daddy. Rosie come back. Rosie see ponies with granny and pops.”

John smiled at her. She had his eyes.

“I know, love bug. And you are going to tell Papa and me all about it when you come back, right?”

“Yes.” Sherlock kissed their daughter and then she got into Mycroft’s car next to her granny. They waved her goodbye and Sherlock hailed a cab to get them back to Baker Street.

The flat seemed empty without a child babbling constantly. He enjoyed the silence. It was filed with moans minutes later, as Sherlock had basically jumped on him.

They did it against the living room table, trousers and pants pulled down to their knees.

They moved against each other and John’s wedding suit was drenched in sweat.

He came hard, way sooner than he had wanted to, buried in the tight heat of Sherlock’s body. It took a few moments for him to catch his breath and when he did, he took a step back, pulling on Sherlock's shoulder.

“Turn around, love.” They kissed and Sherlock whimpered into his mouth.

“Give me a second.”

He got to his knees and took his husband into his mouth, as deep as he could, moving fast. God, how far they had come. Colleagues, friends, best friends, family, partners and now husbands. Who would have thought that eight years ago, except for Mrs. Hudson maybe? John looked up.

Lust made Sherlock even more beautiful, devastatingly beautiful. He still couldn’t believe he was the one to make him look like that sometimes.

“Jooohn. Close, so clo…” John loved the taste of him. He probably shouldn’t, but he did. He licked Sherlock clean and the detective helped him back up.

They kissed, tenderly now. Sherlock brought his mouth to John’s ear.

“You should know that Mrs. Hudson made her way up the stairs five minutes ago and has been standing in front of the door ever since.”

“Oh god.” John pulled up his trousers in a hurry, as did Sherlock. “We can’t have a moment in privacy in this damn house, can we?”

He opened the door and their landlady at least had the decency to blush.

“Mrs. Hudson. You are way too kinky. This is not okay.”

“It isn’t the first time either,” Sherlock commented from his chair.

She smiled at him. “I was so excited his morning, so I had to bake to distract myself. I've got biscuits for you.” John cleared his throat. “That is very kind of you. Just don’t… please don’t listen to us having sex again.” Mrs. Hudson just put the plate down and smiled at them again and then she was gone.

“She is going to do it again.” “Better her than Rosie.”

They giggled together for a while, and then John held his hand out for Sherlock to help him up. “Come to the bedroom with me, darling. We have a weekend alone and I intend not to waste a second of it.”

“Hmm. Our wedding night started early. One of the advantages of having a small ceremony.”

They kissed on the way to their room and made love in their bed, wedding suits discarded on the floor.

 

Sherlock lay awake, curled around his husband’s back. That’s how they had fallen asleep after round three. He loved cuddling, he just couldn’t sleep with another person pressed so closely to him. He hated being too hot, especially at night. Just one of his flaws that John chose to overlook.

They were sticky and sweaty and their combined scent was like a drug. He couldn’t get enough, not ever and he wished John would have been his first, not that guy at uni that was dared to shag with the freak. He had wanted to know what sex was like, back then.

Making love to John was like flying, like letting go, knowing the other was there to catch you.

“What are you thinking about, love?” John’s voice was sleepy, he turned his head so Sherlock could kiss his lips.

“Us.”

John smiled and turned around completely. “Good answer.”

God, there should be a limit to how much love one could feel.

Sherlock followed the lines of John’s face with his fingers. He hated the fact that John didn’t recognize how beautiful he was, that each silver hair, each wrinkle made him more beautiful to Sherlock. There had been so many situations in which they could have died and the fact that they were still alive and together was a miracle, if Sherlock was one to believe in things like miracles.

“You were right.”

“Can I have that in writing?” John smiled at him and Sherlock got up on his elbow and kissed him again. “About what?”

“It does complete you as a human being. Love.” “It does, doesn’t it?” Sherlock pressed kisses to John’s face.

“You were right too.” John’s fingers traveled down his neck and chest.

“Always am. But what do you mean in particular?” “My hand looks even better wrapped around your cock now.”

“You’re insatiable, Dr. Watson.”

“You are way too delicious for me not to be, Mr. Watson.”

Right, that’s what he was now. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and Sherlock Watson, husband and father.

 

 

John woke up way past his usual time. He gently squeezed Sherlock’s hand, as the detective laid next to him on his belly, mouth slightly open. He didn’t get so see a sleeping Sherlock often and drank in the sight.

He looked so young in his sleep, so innocent. He had killed for this man, he would have died for him. At the pool. By the hands of Moriarty’s men. At Sherrinford. He would have died for this brilliant and beautiful man a thousand times.

John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s palm and got up, heading for the loo. Mrs. Holmes called when he was making tea.

“Rosie wants to talk to you.” John smiled.

“Sure.” He put the phone on speaker and continued preparing breakfast.

“Daddy. Hiii.”

“Good morning, love bug. Did you see horses yet?”

“No. Gonna go see now.”

“Lovely. And you wanted to talk to me before you left?”

“Yes, and Papa.”

“Papa is still asleep. But he misses you, and so do I.”

“No miss me, Daddy. Can cuddle with Papa.”

John smiled. “Oh, I did cuddle with Papa. But you know I prefer to cuddle with the both of you.”

“Rosie come back ‘morrow, Daddy.”

“I know. Have fun with granny and pops. I love you, Rosie.”

“Love you too, Daddy. Love Papa.”

“I’ll tell him. Bye Rosie."

“Bye Daddy.”

He heard Mrs. Holmes’ voice in the background, as she ended the call.

John left his phone in the kitchen and brought tea and toast to the bedroom. Sherlock opened his eyes, when he crawled back into bed.

The sheets were only covering him for his hips down and John let his finger wander from his chest to his belly.

“Good morning, love. Do you think we were successful last night? Feel pregnant yet?”

He kissed the skin above Sherlocks bellybutton.

“You should know, as a doctor, that I have the wrong body parts for that. Not that we didn’t try hard enough.”

John cupped his face between his hands and kissed the cupid bow lips.

“I am serious, Sherlock. Let’s try to have a baby. Let’s try for adoption. “

Sherlock’s smile was all he needed.

 

 

The adoption process was hard and it took away a lot of their time and energy. Rosie was excited about having a brother or sister and she got impatient. It was hardest on Sherlock. He took a lot more cases, more dangerous cases than before, he slept less.

John worried. Their social worker gave all she could and they applied to adopt a one year old boy. It didn’t happen in the end and John could see Sherlock’s heart break.

They held Rosie even closer in the following days, she sensed that something was going on and was even sweeter than usual, cuddling her Papa as he sulked on the sofa.

“We could try looking for a surrogate, you know?”

John sat down on the floor next to the sofa, his knees rebelling. Sherlock looked up at him, his hand roaming through Rosie’s blond locks. She had her mother’s hair, but in John’s sandy colour.

“You want that?”

“Yes. Yes, I want that. He or she will be beautiful. I want them to have your eyes.”

“You want to use my sperm?”

“Hmm, yes. If you want that too. One of our kids should have your brain. And your hair.”

Sherlock’s eyes filled with tears and John kissed them away.

“Why is Papa crying?” Rosie’s voice was quiet.

“Your daddy just made me really happy, Rosie. Like he always does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment your favourite baby names. Chapter IV s in the making.


	4. You are like the Moon, Papa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “John Hamish. He never mentions his second name.”  
> Sherlock stood in the doorway, smiling at them.  
> “Because it’s horrible.” He smiled at the baby. “That handsome fellow over there is my husband, William Sherlock Scott.”

They succeeded the third time. Lucy told them she was pregnant two weeks before Rosie’s fourth birthday.

It had taken them a while to find the perfect surrogate. And Lucy was perfect. She had blond hair and green eyes, she was small and a little bit chubby. She was a doctor too and had acted as a surrogate for a gay couple before. And Sherlock liked her, which was most important.

John was beyond excited. He was going to be a father for the second time. Rosie was going to be a big sister. His little girl was not longer the youngest in the family. Sherlock’s child was growing inside Lucy’s body right now, had been for nine weeks.

They bought a crib and changing table in their rush of excitement. The baby would sleep in their bedroom for the first few months and Mrs. Hudson had agreed to let them renovate 221C, so they had more space, three extra rooms to be exact. One for Sherlock’s experiments and the second for the baby, when it got older, the third for storage.

They started painting the walls when Lucy was three months pregnant, they ripped out the old carpets and bought new lamps.

That’s when the social worker called. A teenager had decided to still drive after three glasses of vodka. He hit a car with a young mother inside. She didn’t make it. Her nine month old son did. The only living relative was a ninety year old aunt that lived in India.

John didn’t even hesitate when he was asked to give him shelter for a few days, until the social worker would find a permanent place for him to stay. They already had a crib.

John went and got formula. He picked up Rosie from kindergarden and phoned Sherlock on the way. The detective was with Lestrade, working on a case of a missing woman, who they feared had been kidnapped by a serial killer. He would be alone, when their foster child arrived.

Noah was a chubby little boy with brown eyes and caramel skin. He cried a lot in his first hours at Baker Street. Ms. Tyler stayed with them, watched John as he fed Noah and changed his diaper. She watched Rosie interact with the baby and left in the evening, the little boy still whimpering.

John had learned that his mother’s parents moved here from India and that she had lived England her whole life. The father of her son was unknown to the authorities and none of her relatives were still alive. So this little baby boy was alone in this world and if he didn’t find an adoptive family or permanent foster parents, he would end up in an orphanage.

John brought Rosie up to her room, while Mrs. Hudson tried to sing Noah to sleep. The little girl was too excited to sleep, bombarding John with questions.

“Is Noah my brother now?”

“No, Rosie. Noah will stay with us for a while, until Ms. Tyler finds his parents.”

“Has he lost them?” John set down at the edge of her bed, stroking her cheeks.

“No, love bug. Noah’s parents are in heaven, like mommy is. Sometimes bad things like that happen and then people like Ms. Tyler have to find a new family for the child.”

“So why can’t he stay with us?”

“You remember that there is a baby growing in Lucy’s belly? He or she is going to be your brother or sister and they are going to stay with us.”

“Why can’t they both stay?” John kissed her nose.

“I don’t have an answer for that, sweetheart. Now, go to sleep. You can play with Noah tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy. Sing for me?”

He did. She fell asleep.

John went back downstairs and took the little boy from Mrs. Hudson. He had stopped crying and John sat down in his chair with him. He set the baby down on his thighs and took the tiny hands in his.

“Hello little fellow. I know your short life has been hard. But could you show me your beautiful smile? My name is John.”

“John Hamish. He never mentions his second name.”

Sherlock stood in the doorway, smiling at them.

“Because it’s horrible.” He smiled at the baby. “That handsome fellow over there is my husband, William Sherlock Scott.”

The detective got out of his coat and knelt down next to them. Noah instantly grabbed one of his locks, pulling at it. He smiled.

“Oh there it is. And what a beautiful smile you have.” Giggles.

“Is Rosie already in bed?”

“Yes. And you should go too. You look tired, love.”

“I should. Things got a little bit difficult. Will you two be alright? This was a little… sudden.”

John freed Sherlock’s hair from the tiny hands and stood up. Noah would need to eat again. Rosie had already started eating toast at nine months and that’s what he would try.

“Yes. It was, but just couldn’t say no somehow. We will be alright. Take a shower and then go to bed. Have you eaten?”

Sherlock’s lips tasted salty.

“Hmm. I deduce that you had chips.”

“Correct, Dr. Watson.”

“Off you go, then. Good night, love.”

“Night.”

John and Noah ate toast together, then John changed the baby’s nappy and put him to bed. He had to get up three times that night and ended up falling asleep on the sofa, the little boy curled against his chest.

They got used to life with two kids. John thought it was quite good practice for when the baby would arrive. Noah cried a lot for the first two days, obviously missing his mother and John decided to take a week off work, because he felt he was responsible for the whole situation and did not want to leave Sherlock alone with it.

The detective surprised him again by playing lullabies on his violin and making formula for the little boy. He cuddled with him on the sofa, while he was in his mind palace and took him with him when he picked up Rosie from kinder garden.

John saw him fall in love with the little boy and the detective sulked for hours every time Ms. Tyler came to visit, promising she would find someone for the boy as soon as possible.

On day three John woke up with Rosie sleeping between them and Noah babbling on Sherlock’s chest and he smiled at his little family. God, he didn’t want to let Noah go. Not now, not ever. He should have known that he would fall in love with the little boy the second he arrived. They were not experienced foster parents, they were just a family desperate to have another child. And there was another child, growing inside Lucy, waiting for them.

“He loves your hair.” Noah had started reaching out for Sherlock’s head again, giggling. Sherlock smiled at John, but his smile saddened, as he pulled the little boy closer to him, tickling his belly.

Rosie moved in her sleep and John took her hand in his and kissed it. She had grown so much and he could see more of her mother in her now. They way she smiled, the way her hair curled. They braided it for the night to make brushing it easier. John was a master in braids now.

“You know why I wanted to adopt a child?” Noah cooed at Sherlock and John knew that they loved each other already.

“Why?”

“There are so many children who feel lonely and I know what that is like. I never cared. I believed in what I said, John. That alone protects me. I know now that you were right. Love makes you vulnerable, but it also makes you so much stronger. I wanted to adopt a child, because you are great at making others feel stronger. And there would be one less lonely child.”

John took a deep breath. How much Sherlock had changed, without ever losing who he was. Love healed people and they both had a lot of healing to do, still after so many years.

“Do you think we could handle three?”

Pale eyes looked directly at him, then at the children in their bed. Noah was close to falling asleep again, mouth open slightly.

“Rosie is the best behaved and most kind hearted child I ever met, this boy is going to be a whirlwind, once he figured out walking and the baby is mine, so brilliant and rebellious.”

Rosie opened her eyes and the first thing she did was smile at her fathers. She climbed onto John's chest and he kissed her hair.

“Good morning.” “Mo’ning Daddy. Mo’ning Papa.”

She reached out to stroke Noah face. The baby sighed in his sleep.

“Mo’ning Noah.” John pressed another kiss to her hair.

“You like him?” Rosie looked up at him.

“He is nice.”

“Rosie thinks everyone is nice.” Sherlock stood up and put the baby in his crib. He reached out for Rosie and she let him carry her to the kitchen.

John followed them.

“It’s not something we can decide in a day.”

Sherlock nodded, putting Rosie down so she could use the loo.

John hugged him from behind, rubbing his nose against his neck. “I am going to call Ms. Tyler and tell her that we are thinking about it.”

Sherlock made a strangled noise, leaning into John.

“Thank you.”

“I am not as good of a man as you think I am, love. I am not doing this for you. Totally selfish reasons. I want to keep him.”

Sherlock turned around.

“Yes you are. Best man I’ve ever met. You give me everything I ever wanted without even thinking.”

“You deserve it, love. I want to give you something good for every time they called you a freak.”

Kissing Sherlock felt exciting, even after three years. He tasted like sleep, like home, like an adventure, their adventure. And John still got lost in him with every kiss.

He felt little fingers grabbing his shirt.

“I want kisses, too.” John smiled against his husband's lips and then picked up their daughter. She kissed both her fathers and demanded breakfast right after.

“How about you and Papa make breakfast together? I have to make a phone call.”

She nodded heavily.

“Come on, Papa. Toast and cacoa. And tea. And I help with Noah’s formula.”

“The boss has spoken, Sherlock.”

 

 

They fought. They fought a lot, even though they had the same opinion. They wanted Noah to be a part of the family, but John seemed to be the only one who could see what big of a step it was from one child to three.

Sherlock sulked and John yelled and even spent a night at Greg’s with Rosie, because he couldn’t stand it anymore. Sherlock followed them two hours later, standing in front of the door, Noah and his diaper bag in his arms. He looked miserable. John said nothing, just hugged him tight.

Noah moved in with them permanently three weeks after.

 

 

Sherlock stared in disbelief. He saw the little movements of the child on the screen and he could not believe it was his. This was the second scan they went to with Lucy, the second time he could see the little bundle of cells move. Twenty weeks and three days. Twenty more to go.

“We could find out the gender today. Do you want to know?”

Sherlock looked at John. His husband had occupied the only other chair in the room, Rosie sitting on his right leg, Noah on his left. He shook his head.

“No. We want to be surprised.”

The doctor, he had already forgotten her name, smiled. It was probably a cliché, but he really didn’t care, as long as the baby was healthy.

“Well, the baby is healthy. Ten fingers, ten toes. A little small for twenty weeks, but nothing to worry about.”

The doctor wiped the gel from Lucy’s belly and she redressed. Rosie got off John’s lap and walked towards Lucy.

“Can I touch?” She asked with eyes so big, no one could say no. Not that Lucy wanted to.

Sherlock watched his daughter touched the belly that contained his child. He realized he hadn’t moved, when John put Noah on his lap and kissed his cheek. He cleared his throat and John smiled at him.

“Me too, love, me too.”

 

They went to lunch with Lucy and her husband Phillip. Sherlock ate, even though he wasn’t hungry. His mind was full and he felt the need to be alone. How could one process that a child containing his own DNA would soon walk the earth? How did ordinary people do that, if he couldn’t?

“Papa smile.” Rosie climbed onto his lap and kissed his chin. He did.

“You, Rosamund Mary Watson are as much a conductor of light as your Daddy is.”

The little girl looked at him with questioning eyes. “What is a condutu of light, Papa?”

“Hmm. It means that you are my little sun, Rosamund. That you make me happy.”

She smiled at him.

“You are more like the moon, Papa. ‘Cause people can’t see, but you are really nice.”

Sherlock buried his face in her hair to hide the tears. The whole table went silent and he felt John’s hand on his.

“That is a very kind thing of you to say, sweetheart.” Noah plate fell and hit the floor. The five of them laughed and John went to clean up the mess.

 

“You still need to go see Lestrade, right?” John had just changed Noah’s nappy, Lucy and Phillip had left five minutes ago. “Yes. He needs me to explain how I solved the murder of the florist again. He knows how much I hate repeating myself. He should just listen the first time.”

“To his defense, you probably didn’t say it out loud, love.”

“Probably.”

John kissed his husbands cheek.

“How about you take the kids with you? Rosie loves Greg and you could show off Noah again. I’ll go pick up some groceries and we’ll meet at home.”

“Yes, visit Greg. Please, Papa.”

Sherlock tied his scarf around his neck, as John put Noah into his pushchair. They parted at the door and John watched, as the three of them walked away.

 

He came back to 221B an hour later, two bags of groceries in hand. Mrs. Hudson seemed to be out, as he could not hear her move around the flat. He made his way up the stairs.

Someone was upstairs.

The door to the flat was open and he left the groceries on top of the stairs as he entered.

Irene Adler set in Sherlock’s armchair, beautiful as ever, smiling at him. Jealousy hit him hard the moment he saw her, in a dress that covered all but hid nothing.

“Johnny. I am surprised to see you are still here.”

“Thought you knew everything.”

Irene stood up slowly. “Well, I haven’t been in London for a while. And you haven’t updated your blog in three years. Not that I care.”

The woman moved towards the fireplace and moved her fingers over the skull. Her nails were painted in the same red as years ago.

“Well. Still here. And why are you? Here I mean.”

He felt stupid, standing in the doorway and so he moved to the sofa and set down.

“To visit my old friend, Sherlock Holmes. I missed his sexy face.”

She giggled. “Oh dear. Must be hard to see those cheekbones every day and not be able to touch them. You should tell him you love him, Johnny. He’s brilliant but he can’t deduce feelings.”

John hid a smile. “That’s true. Probably the only thing he can’t do.”

Steps on the stairs.

“Oh there he is. My sexy detective.”

Irene checked her lipstick in the mirror above the fire place. And turned around. Her jaw dropped, when she saw Rosie and Noah.

“What…? Who…?”

“Daddy. Papa and Noah and I visit Greg.”

Rosie ran towards John and he hugged her back. “Who is this, Daddy?”

“An old acquaintance of mine. Why don’t you go upstairs and finish your drawing that you want to give Noah for his birthday, little sun, so the adults can talk.”

Sherlock’s voice was soft, but he watched Irene with suspicion in his eyes.

“Okay.” Rosie ran up the stairs to her room and John stood up. He moved towards Sherlock, who had let go of the diaper bag.

“Irene ... she knows you well and she...I am just going to say it. I love you, husband.” He said and pressed a kiss to the man’s pale lips.

Irene Adler let herself fall into Sherlock’s chair, John was surprised by how unladylike she moved.

“Oh my god. You really… One of you really had the balls to… And you made yourself a happy little family… “ John smiled at the woman, satisfied to see her in shock.

Sherlock didn’t. “What do you want?”

John took the sleeping Noah from him.

“Can’t I just visit you?”

“No.”

Irene smiled. “You’re right. Of course you are. I have a case for you.”

“I won’t take it.”

John got the groceries and began to put them in the fridge, baby in arm.

“I haven’t even…”

“I won’t take it. You are trouble. I won’t have you close to my family.”

Noah stirred in his sleep and John brought him to the bedroom. He put the little boy in his crib and when he returned to the living room, the woman was gone.

Sherlock almost collapsed into him and John held him close.

“Don’t you ever think I would leave you. Not for her, not for anyone.”

“I know, love. I know that. Still going to be jealous, whether I want to or not. But I trust you.”

John kissed his husband, pressing him against the kitchen table. “She was interesting, back then. She never had a chance against you.”

 

Lucy fell down the stairs at thirty-eight weeks pregnant. The four of them were sitting in the living room, when Phillip called.

“We’re at the hospital now. They don’t know how bad it is now. She’ll need surgery.”

Sherlock screamed and hit the walls. He threw a plate onto the ground.

“It’s all your fault, John. Your fault.”

He put on his coat and scarf.

“You and your stupid love. I was good on my own, brilliant, until you came in with your stupid, beautiful face.”

Tears ran down the pale face that was trembling with pain.

“Sherlock…” John reached out for him.

“Don’t. Touch. Me. Don’t touch me ever again.”

Then he was gone and John cried into Noah’s hair, as the one year old slept in his arms. That night, he lay awake in their bed and he felt cold and lonely and he wished there was a hand to hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry :(  
> I'm gonna make up for it with a lot of fluff in the fifth and final chapter :D


	5. I’m Brilliant, like Papa.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why you crying, Daddy?”

 John didn’t sleep. He tried to call Sherlock, only to hear the phone buzzing on the kitchen table. Phillip didn’t answer either.

**My brother is not willing to talk to you. Be assured that he is physically well. You will be informed of any changes concerning Sherlock or the child. MH**

The text helped, at least a little.

When Noah woke up in the middle of the night, he rocked him back to sleep and took his son upstairs to Rosie’s room. He sat there in the rocking chair and watched his children in the pale light of the moon. They were so peaceful in their sleep.

He cried silently, for the child that was possibly dead and for his husband, whose heart was broken.

There was nothing he could do but wait for Phillip to call, or for Sherlock to return. He feared he wouldn’t. He feared, the detective would just delete them from his mind palace and move on and he felt ridiculous for his fear, still, it was there, torturing him.

_Don’t touch me ever again._

How could he live without touching him, when he needed to hold his hand to be able to sleep, when he needed a kiss for his day to be a good one?

“Daddy?” Rosie got out of her bed and crawled onto his lap. John tried to wipe away the tears, before she could see him, but his clever little girl already knew.

She snuggled into her dad.

“Why you crying, Daddy?”

He couldn’t answer her at first, his voice failed him. He forced himself to talk, because he knew she would get scared, if he didn’t.

“Your… your Papa is angry with me. And that makes me really sad.” He just couldn’t tell her about the baby.

“Papa love you. Papa said you’re his conductu of light. I am his little sun and Noah is his baby sun. And baby is his baby sun too. But you are his big sun, Daddy.”

John smiled, tears still running down his face.

"You are such a clever little girl, Rosie.”

“I’m brilliant, like Papa.” His daughter smiled and he kissed her forehead.

“You are, love bug. Now go back to bed, it’s still early. Papa will be back once you wake up.” Hopefully.

 

Noah grabbing his nose and cooing at him was what woke him up. His back hurt from sitting in the rocking chair all night and he struggled getting up with a toddler in his arms. Rosie was still fast asleep and he took Noah downstairs for a nappy change.

Then he let the one year old, who had just discovered walking, loose in the living room, closing all the doors Noah could escape through.

He made breakfast for Rosie and Noah, none for himself. He tried to pull himself together for the children, but he couldn’t. All he knew was that he would not leave, not like he had when Mary had died. He knew now that leaving was never an answer. Leaving hurt the ones left behind.

“Namamamama” Hungry.

Noah made a few steps towards him. Rosie had already learned her first few words at his age, but he was already a master at walking now, which she had avoided until they had moved to Baker Street.

“I’m working on it, big man.”

He put the baby in his high chair. Minutes later the little one was eating happily. John watched him, a cup of tea in hand. They should really cut his hair.

Rosie came into the kitchen and sat down at her end of the table, her stuffed cat still in hand. He kissed her hair and she nibbled on her toast.

“Papa not here.”

“He will be, love.” John wanted to go out there, he wanted to look for Sherlock. He couldn’t and it made him miserable.

The flat went silent as the children ate and John jerked, when his phone rang. He ran into the bedroom. Unknown number.

“Watson.”

“John.” Sherlock’s voice sounded broken.

John covered his mouth with is hand to keep himself from screaming.

“God, Sherlock. I was worried. Where are you?”

“At the hospital. We… we have a daughter, John. A beautiful, healthy little daughter.”

John fell to his knees.

“Mycroft will send a car for you and the children. Will you come and meet her?”

“John? John, please.”

“Of course we will, love. Of course.”

 

Sherlock sat in an arm chair in a hospital room and held his daughter for the first time. He had spent all night sitting here, waiting for news and then they had brought this little bundle of blankets to him. He had looked at the tiny, pink face for the first time and he had felt bewitched.

They had talked to him about Lucy, about the surgery and birth, but he had heard nothing they said. He didn’t care. His child was alive. They gave him formula, so he could feed her and he wished John was there to witness her first feeding.

He walked the floors of the hospital with her, to rock her to sleep. He wished John was there to see her yawn and close her blue eyes. He wished he could take back the words he had said last night.

One of the nurses told him the child’s birth weight and her length. He just knew that she was perfect. He had thought his heart was already full with love for John and Rosie and Noah, but this little girl made it grow by just being there.

Rosie was the first one to arrive. She ran up to the door and pushed it open. She squealed and pressed her head to his arm.

“Missed you, Papa.”

Then she saw the baby. “Oh Papa she’s beautiful.”

“She is, sweetheart. She is your sister.”

And there was John. Sherlock could see he hadn’t slept last night and he was overrun with guilt. John struggled to keep a hold of Noah, who wanted to run too.

John got on his knees in front of the chair and Noah climbed onto Sherlock’s lap.

“Oh hello, little one. Welcome to the world.”

Sherlock grabbed John’s hand, held it tight.

Kissing John felt like being able to breathe again.

“See, Papa love you. Not worry, Daddy.”

The thought of never being able to see John smile again had haunted him last night, as he waited for his baby to be born. The Surgery had been hard for mother and child, it had taken hours and Sherlock had spent every moment on a chair in the hospital floor, worrying.

John was smiling now.

“And I love your papa. And you, and Noah and our little baby.”

“She needs a name.”

“I always liked Katherine.” John followed the lines of the newborn’s face with his fingers. He had suggested this name before, four years ago.

“Katherine.” Sherlock looked at her peaceful face, while keeping Noah from grabbing his hair.

“You like it?”

“Well, I can’t name her after myself, like Mary did. Couldn’t convince you Sherlock was a girl’s name, could I?”

John giggled and Sherlock knew it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Martha.”

“After Mrs. Hudson?”

John made room for Rosie, who had cuddled up around him, still watching the baby with pure joy in her eyes. Sherlock nodded, kissing Noah’s face.

“Katherine Martha Watson. That sounds wonderful.”

Rosie, Noah and Katherine were all asleep. The newborn in her crib and the other two in the hospital bed. John and Sherlock shared the chair, exchanging lazy kisses.

John felt rebellious for sitting on his husband’s lap, snogging him, when a nurse could come in at any moment. He couldn’t care less. He had his Sherlock back, they had a third child, this wonderful little girl with the black hair and bright eyes.

“I’m sorry for what I said. Don’t ever listen to me, when I say stupid things like that. I love you. Your love is everything.”

“You were in pain. It doesn’t matter now. I love you, too. Go on kissing me. We have three of those little naggers now. There won’t be time for kissing anymore.”

“Nothing but quickies for the next eighteen years.”

They giggled and kissed and watched the children sleep.

 

 

**25 years later**

 

John opened the front door to Baker Street and took a deep breath. The smell of coffee and biscuits welcomed him, like back in the days when Mrs. Hudson had still lived here. There were no more weird patterned wall papers, the new inhabitants preferred light colours.

He almost made his way up the stairs, before he remembered.

Rosie smiled, when she saw him standing in the kitchen door. She had her blond hair tamed in a braid that was almost long enough to touch her hips. She worked as a primary school teacher.

He hugged her tightly.

“Hello, love bug. Good to see you.”

Rosie smiled at him, kissing his cheek.

“Good to see you too, Dad. But I’m not four years old anymore.”

John found one of the kitchen chairs and sat down. His leg was nagging him again.

“I pretend you still are or else I’d have to admit I’m an old man.”

Rosie started making tea and John could see a lot of himself in the way she moved around the kitchen, always busy.

“Where’s Papa?” John smiled at the thought of his husband, almost seventy years old, still wearing his Belstaff, still sharp as ever.

“Oh you know, every time we come to London he is off to the Yard like a moth to a flame. The new Detective Inspector is a big fan of my blog and Sherlock solves most cases over the phone now. The doctor is a little concerned, his heart, you know. So I keep him from running around too much.”

Rosie came over to him, a cup of tea in hand and kissed his cheek again. She knew he worried.

“Noah sent a card. He’s still in India. He found the village, where his grandparents were born in. He says he will be back for Christmas.”

Noah’s journey had begun nearly two years ago. It had started as a holiday in India to get to know his mother’s culture and now he worked there for different charities and health organisations.

John was proud of him, but he missed having his big man around.

The pictures he sent showed a happy young man with long, dark hair amidst hordes of children.

“He’s so much like you, Dad. This need to help people, it’s impressive.”

“Yeah, and he is as ignorant of danger as his father is.”

Large hands grabbed John’s shoulders, squeezing them softly.

“I am not ignorant, I am looking for danger. Actively.”

John covered the hand on his left shoulder with his own, turned his head around and looked up at his husband of almost thirty years. He was still gorgeous, white hair falling in curls as thick as ever into a pale, barely wrinkled face, as if even age did not dare to touch the great Sherlock Holmes. The pale eyes still scanned every bit of their surroundings, now supported by glasses.

“As if that were better, love.”

They kissed briefly.

“Ewww. Get a room you two.”

They all turned around to see Kat standing in the door frame. She smiled and Sherlock was the first to hug her.

Their youngest daughter had shaved one side of her head and John could see parts of her sleeve tattoos peeking out from under her leather jacket. She was wonderful, bright, brilliant even and she wore the word “freak” as a patch of pride.

She did well in university and would soon be the next doctor Watson.

“I can’t and won’t leave my hands off your Dad, Katherine. That’s called love.”

The two curly-heads smiled at each other.

Shawn entered the room as Sherlock hugged Rosie, kissing her cheek.

John got up from his chair and took the toddler from his son-in-law. “There’s the birthday boy. Two years old already. You should stop growing.”

Sherlock’s hand petted the mop of blond hair on their grandson's head.

“Happy Birthday, Aiden.”

 

They lay awake in the room that had been John’s, then Rosie’s and that now served as a guest room. John’s chest was pressed against his husband’s back. Sherlock had learned to appreciate his body heat with old age.

Their hands lay intertwined on the detective’s belly.

“Rosie is pregnant again. She will tell us tomorrow at breakfast. I should probably not have told you that. You are horrible at acting surprised.”

John smiled, kissing the pale skin underneath his husband’s ear.

“Who would have thought that the Watson family would grow that big, that there would ever be a Watson family? We are two lucky bastards, love.”

They moved and Sherlock laid his head on John’s chest.

“I like being Sherlock Watson way more than I liked being Sherlock Holmes.”

John hugged the other man tighter, pressing kisses to his hair.

“And I love you more than I love myself.”

They fell asleep in each other’s arms and they would do so sixteen more years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it guys. All is well that ends well  
> Thank you soooo much for all your lovely comments, they are more appreciated than I could ever put it into words. <3
> 
> what was your favourite part? I loooved writing all the scenes where Rosie said something cute and brilliant to her daddys


	6. Bonus Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sleepless night in Baker Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta on the two Bonus chapters by Anonymousfanficfantic. Thank you so much  
> I just spent 45 minutes writing this. I needed fluff, so there you go :D

Daddy always slept on the left side of the bed, even in those nights when Papa was not there with him. He was facing the door and Rosie thought he looked nice in his sleep. She had woken up from a nightmare again and it had taken her a while to be brave enough to make her way downstairs and through the kitchen. Most times, when she did that, Papa was still awake and would cuddle her on the sofa for a while before bringing her to Daddy's bed, but tonight the flat had been dark and Rosie had pressed her stuffed cat close and made her way through the darkness with all its shadows and noises.

The door of her fathers' bedroom had been open, it always was. Daddy wanted it that way, so Rosie and her siblings could always come to them if they needed to. And right now, Rosie needed Daddy and Papa.

Daddy mumbled in his sleep and turned to lying on his back and Rosie tried climbing into the bed without waking him. She lifted up the duvet and crawled under it, already feeling safer. Jack said that sleeping with one's parents was for babies. Jack also thought that having two fathers and Noah having a different skin colour than the rest of the family was weird. Papa had told her Jack was an idiot and so Rosie had just stopped listening to him and his idiot comments.

Rosie turned to her side to find Daddy smiling at her.

“Alright, love?” Rosie liked Daddy's sleepy voice.

“Nightmare. Better now,” she murmured.

Daddy smiled at her and wrapped his arm around her. Warm and safe like this it took Rosie only minutes to fall back asleep.

Something, a noise, made Rosie wake up. For a moment she felt confused, before she realized she was in Papa's and Daddy's bed. It was still dark outside and Daddy still had his arm wrapped around her. Papa was half way out of bed, sitting up at the edge of the mattress, the lamp on the bedside table switched on.  
“Papa?” voice small, Rosie reached out for him.  
“Noah's crying. Be right back,” Papa whispered and Rosie felt his hand on her hair for a moment. Only now she noticed the crying coming from the baby monitor. Noah was not a baby anymore, neither was Kat, but their rooms were so far away from the main bedroom, not even Papa could hear them from there.  
Papa was back a few minutes later, both Kat and Noah in his arms. Rosie could see the streaks of tears on her brother's cheeks, but he was asleep again, were as Kat seemed wide awake, babbling quietly and smiling, when she saw Rosie.  
“Rosamund, would you move closer to Daddy, so that we can all fit in here?”  
Rosie cuddled closer to Daddy and Papa placed Noah next to her, before switching off the light and lying down with Katherine still in his arms.

John woke up with a foot in his face. He was used to having a bony elbow pressed to his back as his consulting detective husband slept curled up against him, or Rosie lying diagonally in their bed. Being kicked awake because his four year old son apparently dreamed of playing football right now, was... not good. That little fellow was stronger than he looked and John's jaw hurt, but he couldn't keep himself from smiling. Noah lay parallel to the headboard, head towards Sherlock's side of the bed, while Rosie took up almost all of the space between John and Sherlock, sprawled out like a starfish. Kat, beautiful, amazing little Kat Watson took up the least space, sleeping pressed against Sherlock's side, hands clenched into fists in front of her face.  
Carefully, John sat up. He wouldn't be able to fall asleep like this again, only a small part of the bed still left for him. He lifted the duvet and crawled out of bed, making his way to the living room in the darkness. He glanced at the clock sitting on the bedside table, sighing in mild defeat.  
4:36. He had to be up in two hours.  
John stumbled to the living room, still half asleep. God, they would need to get a new sofa. Too many children had jumped on and off of this one, too many times had a consulting detective dropped down on it in boredom, yelling for nicotine patches. He would ask Molly to watch the kids sometime this week and go buy a new one, finally. Preferably when Sherlock was distracted by a case or they would end up fighting in the furniture shop.  
John shook his head softly. He should sleep, not think about the sofa. Kat had suffered from a light fever over the last week and sleep had been a rarity. Maybe he should convince Sherlock for them to go on holiday, just the two of them for a few days. They could sleep all day and do other things in bed. That sounded fantastic, but John would probably miss the little monsters after two hours. Sometimes he still felt like his life was all a dream, being married to Sherlock and having three kids together sounded like a unrealistic story some reader of his blog had come up with. It was his reality, his family and he was so grateful for every moment, even for being kicked out of his bed at four in the morning.  
Six feet of consulting detective lumbered from the bedroom and flopped down on the sofa and onto John, who reacted just in time to open his arms so that they weren't trapped between them. John wrapped them around his husband, holding him close.  
“Too many children in our bed.” Sherlock kissed his neck, lips warm and wet.  
“Hmm. I noticed that.” John responded while running his fingers through the bedhead curls of his lover.  
For a while, they just lay there, on their old sofa in the dark, holding each other. John's fingers combing through Sherlock's hair, which were still black as night, not a single grey hair on his head (nor anywhere else on his body. John would be the one to know.) Sherlock lifted his head off his chest and peered into John’s eyes, his fingers tracing something on his chest. He bit his lip before speaking.  
“I know you need sleep, John, but I would very much appreciate it if we could have sex right now. It's been... a while.”  
“Yeah. That's because of all the children in our bed,” John chuckled, but his fingers started trailing down from Sherlock's scalp to his neck and shoulder blades. They never were a usual couple. By the time they had found each other, evolved from friends to lovers, there had already been a child living with them. They had become fathers twice more after that, the both of them in their mid forties by the time. It was perfect for them.  
“Oh, I think we have worked with worse than the sofa by far,” Sherlock murmured and that glorious mouth was back on John's neck, kissing up.  
“True,” John agreed and it was his last conscious thought, as lips and hands took him apart. The sofa squeaked in time with their movement and John hoped Sherlock had closed the bedroom door for once.  
He vaguely remembered Sherlock cleaning them off and putting his pajama pants back on, before sleep took over.

John woke up to hushed sounds from the kitchen, the clatter of cutlery and the sound of little, bare feet on the wood. The sun was already up and John had to shield his eyes.  
“Daddy,” Kat peeked around the corner, smiling as she found him awake. John smiled back and their youngest daughter ran up to him, accepting his hugs and kisses.  
“Good morning, little cat. Did you sleep well?”  
“Yes. Made breakfast for Daddy. But shush, surprise.”  
She had Sherlock's unruly hair, a dark contrast to her light skin and eyes that looked more like John's, even if he knew that wasn't possible.  
“I won't tell, promise.”  
John made his way to the kitchen, Katherine in his arms. Toast and tea, jam and honey and even scrambled eggs were waiting for him. Breakfast wasn't Sherlock's domain, but he had done an incredible job especially considering three kids running around. Rosie had probably been the only one to really help, she was currently putting forks on the table.  
“Good morning,” John greeted his family, kissing first Rosie, than Noah, who was sitting in his chair with his first toast, already eating.  
“Thought you could need the extra thirty minutes of sleep.” Sherlock put the milk on the table and closed the door of the fridge. John pulled him closer. Their kiss was soft, not more than a peck to the lips.  
“You are amazing, Sherlock Holmes.”  
“Watson. Sherlock Watson.”  
John smiled. Ever since their wedding Sherlock had insisted on his new surname and it made John proud. This amazingly brilliant and loving man wanted to be a Watson, wanted to be his husband and life partner.  
John would gladly suffer for sleepless nights, be it for their children or a case, as long as Sherlock was with him. Together, they were perfect


	7. 2nd bonus chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another segment in the lives of Sherlock and John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is my second language, so bear with me please

Sherlock hated hospitals. He had, in his life, been in a hospital way to often, sitting at John's bed side, holding his hand as his brain tried to comprehend that one day he would lose John. Or John would lose him, which would be worse.

They were old, in their eighties and Sherlock was aware that their transport would some day stutter and fail and he dreaded that day.

He felt the nurses' looks on him, pity in their eyes as he slowly made his way through white hall ways which smelled of disinfectant and old people. He took the lift to the third floor, his hands shaking in his coat pocket. The arthritis had been getting worse over the last few months and for a while he had tried hiding it from John. He had noticed, of course. No violin over the last two years, less and less experiments involving the microscope. Sherlock knew that if he hadn't met John, he would have been dead decades ago, probably killed by a criminal or an overdose. But he had met John Watson over fourty years ago at Barts hospital and now he spent his time tending to his bees and reading to his two grandchildren, Aiden and little Mary while John told stories of their cases. There was tea and take away and sometimes, not as regularly as when they had been younger, there was making love before they fell asleep.  
Sherlock exited the lift, leaving the thoughts of home behind.  
Room 307 had flower curtains and light yellow walls that were supposed to be soothing. Even from the door Sherlock could see how lost Kat looked, even though she tried to look tough with all her tattoos. They were her version of his belstaff coat, giving her a mysterious aura. Now, it had failed her and she looked vulnerable, pain written all over her face. Sherlocks knees threatened to give in seeing her like this and he wished John were here. He was the doctor, the one used to situation like this.  
Kat had asked for Sherlock. They fought a lot, stubborn as they both were, but she had asked for him to be there, not John. Hospital policy only allowed for one person as moral support. John was probably pacing Rosie's kitchen right now, cane forgotten.  
Two nurses were fumbling around the room and Sherlock deduced them to calm down.  
„Sir, you can't...“  
„He's my father. I want him here.“ Kat reached out for him, suddenly his little girl again and as soon as he reached her side, he took her hand in his.  
The next contraction made her curse.

Five hours later, Sherlocks legs hurt and he wasn't able to stand anymore, but the wonderful weight of his second granddaughter made him forget about the pains of old age. She was bigger than Katherine had been as a newborn, but she seemed so small. Sherlock felt Kat's eyes on him and lifted his head to look at her and they both smiled.  
„I texted Daddy. He says he's on his way.“  
Sherlock lifted her hand to touch the little girl's face for the first time and his deformed fingers looked menacing compared to her totally new little face.  
„Thank you, for sharing this with me. It was, despite all the blood, screaming and the cursing, quite beautiful. She is beautiful.“  
Kat sat up in her bed, obviously in pain after almost twenty-four hours in labour and a difficult birth. She had done it without doubting her decision for a second. She would raise her daughter with the same determination.  
Kat knew people were idiots as much as he did. She had been dating an idiot on and off for a while. Having a child hadn't been a deliberate choice. Kat was all career and for a while adoption had been an option, until Rosie had suggested to take care of the little one whenever her sister was at work and now that the baby was here, Sherlock saw the love in his youngest daughter's eyes.  
„Daddy told me to curse like that.“ Katherine smiled, watching her daughter sleep.  
„He would have been the obvious choice. To be here, I mean. He is better at... comfort and sentiment.“  
Sherlock slowly got to his feet as the baby stirred and Kat took her into from him. Shaking. He was shaking.  
„I wanted you here, Papa. Not only because Daddy told me he almost fainted when Rosie was born. I know we fight a lot, we do. We are to similar sometimes. Bu I love you and I'm glad to have you at my side right now.“  
Sherlock smiled at her, sitting back down again.  
11:45, two more hours until visiting hours. John would ignore that and just come up and no one would be able to stop him.  
„What is her name?““ Only now did he think to ask, it had seemed so unimportant.  
Kat looked at the baby's face, touching her small fingers.  
„Minerva.“  
Sherlock smiled. „After that Harry Potter character?“  
„You remember that? I thought you would have deleted that.“ Kat smiled, shushing Minerva as she started whimpering. „Everything is alright, little one. It's all fine.“  
„Of course I didn't delete it. Those wizards were your childhood. You have three Tattoos in homage to them, three that I know of.“  
„Papa?“  
„Hmm?“  
„Come here, I need to hug you.“  
He did and she wrapped her free arm around him.  
„She has a middle name too. Minerva Sherlock Watson.“  
Tears filled his eyes and he had a sudden need for his husband, his comfort. „It is a girl's name,“ he said, his voice dark with emotion. „I tried to tell John that when Rosamund was born.“  
Kat pressed her forehead against his as she had always done as a child. Just an hour ago she had become a mother, but she was still his little girl.  
„I know. Daddy told the story a thousand times. I just thought Minerva I'm-desperately-in-love-with-you Watson would be quite a tongue twister.“  
„Yes, definitely. Impossible for a young girl to pronounce.“  
They giggled, both looking down at the little girl again as she slept.  
A knock on the door as John entered. He leaned heavily on his cane, but his smile was without a trace of the pain Sherlock knew he constantly was in. The legs.  
„Oh, hello. Little one, meet your other grandfather. He's the nice one.“ Katherine smiled and Sherlock moved towards John to hug him. He pressed a kiss to John's hair.  
„We have a granddaughter.“

John looked out of the window onto their garden, the only light the full moon. Maybe they would have a white christmas this year. He smiled at the thought, turning to the bathroom mirror again where he cleaned out his tooth brush before turning out the lights.  
Sherlock had left on the lamp on the bedside table on and John stopped in the doorway to look at his grandchildren, all three of them asleep in their bed as Sherlock sat there, reading. It felt like yesterday when they had shared their bed with their children.  
In the beginning, John had been unsure if they were fit to watch all of them for a whole weekend, but Rosie and Shawn needed some time for themselves and Kat had just gone back to work after half a year. They would come pick the little ones up in the morning and John would miss them. A house full of children meant a house full of life and John enjoyed that very much. It made him forget how old they were.  
Aiden was very helpful, caring for his little sister and cousin. At twelve years old he reminded John of Rosie when she had been the same age, always caring for others. They had spend the afternoon crafting christmas presents for their parents and watching cartoons and as the night before, both Aiden and Mary had insisted on sleeping in their grandfathers' bed again. John had put Minerva next to them. The little one had fallen asleep in his arms as Sherlock had read the good night story.  
„Minerva should sleep in the cradle. She's to small for the bed,“ Sherlock murmured, putting the book on the table, „I just can't pick her up. My hands.“ He lifted them and John's heart ached for a moment. Those fingers had pulled melody's from both he violin and John's throat alike and now moving them hurt Sherlock and John wished he could help. He wished Sherlock could hold his grandchild. Still, who were they to complain? Age was unavoidable for everyone and their lives together had been wonderful. Mad, dangerous and full of hurt, but wonderful all the same.  
He picked up Minerva and she stirred in her sleep. „Shhh, little witch. Sleep. Everything is alright.“ He put her down in the cradle, stroking her hair.  
„The nicknames are getting more ridiculous.“  
John leaned down to kiss his husband before he circled the bed to crawl under the duvet.  
„We are definitely too old to sleep on the sofa.“  
They looked at each other, smiling. „Doesn't mean we won't try when they start kicking us. I will have to get up in a few hours anyway. Minerva will need her bottle.“  
„We should get some sleep, then. After that, I will need at least a murder to calm down.“  
It took a while before Sherlock was able to switch off the light.  
„Good night. I love you.“  
„I love you too, my madman.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I just need to go back to this story and add something. Should I put those ficlets as new works or do you prefer them as chapters as they are now?


	8. 3rd Bonus Chapter

Sherlock woke up in sweat, the thin sheets clinging to his body and, for a moment, he fell into a panic. For more than a year, he had woken up like this almost every single day, not knowing if he would make it to the morning. The tropical climate was hard on him since he was sensitive to humidity.

But those days were over now. He had come home to his John and they had found a way to make it work between them again. Their family, to speak objectively, was perfect.

Sherlock got out of the bed and walked into the small bathroom. It was still dark outside, but they would have to make their way to the airport soon.

 

John and he had discussed this trip for a while. They wanted Noah to know the country his mother came from. John sometimes tried himself on some Indian recipes or they watched a Bollywood movie, but that wasn’t enough. Two white Englishmen couldn’t convey what it meant to be part of another culture, no matter how much John tried to read up on it, but they felt it would play a big part in Noah’s life. The little one, bright boy he was, knew he was just a little different from the other members of the family when it came to looks and they had, from an early age explained why. Now, they wanted to show him.

So, they planned the trip for Noah’s eighth birthday. In three weeks, Sherlock and Noah had explored the country together, leaving John and the girls behind. They wanted this to be about their son and Noah decided he wanted to go to India with Papa.

 

Sherlock took a quick shower and got dressed, packing their bags for their trip back. Noah was still asleep, tiny arms thrown over his head. Sherlock watched his sleeping face, smiling. This trip hadn’t been all about exploring the  country or the culture, it had also brought them closer together. For Noah, John obviously was the favourite parent, which was okay.

John was Sherlock’s favourite, too.

Now, after visiting the village Noah’s grandparents had lived in, exploring Mumbai together, they had a special bond no one would ever be able to take away again. India was colourful and loud, overwhelming and too big to grasp in only twenty days. They had seen many different aspects of life, the poverty as well as the huge pool in front of their hotel.   
Noah was taking it surprisingly well, taking everything in. He asked a lot of questions as eight year olds do, suggesting help the poor here by letting Daddy treat all the sick people on the streets. If it only were that easy. He also suggested he could give all his pocket money to the family of a boy he had played football with. They had bought the boy a real football instead.

Sherlock could see so much of John in his son and it didn’t matter the two didn’t share any genes. Noah liked taking care of others, help people who needed it in the best way he could. Sherlock loved him deeply.

 

“Papa?” Noah sat up in the bed, trying to focus his eyes in the dark room. His hair was all messed up from sleep, sticking up in black spikes.

 

Sherlock stepped up to the bed and switched on the bedside lamp. “Did I wake you?” He sat down at the edge of the bed and Noah scooted over to hug him. Sherlock loved morning cuddles. Surely, they wouldn’t go on for much longer. Soon, Noah would be too cool for cuddles with his old man.

It took awhile for Noah to speak again. He wasn’t a morning person at all and quite grumpy for the first half an hour of being awake.

 

“Papa? Can we come here again with Daddy and Rosie and Kat?”

 

“Of course. We can come here as often as you want on holidays, if you like. Within reasons, of course.” He ruffled Noah’s hair. “I presume you liked it then? Our trip?”

 

“Yes, I love it. Can I live here?” Noah looked up at him with bright eyes.

 

“Once you are eighteen you can move wherever you want. We will miss you dearly, of course.”

 

“No worry, Papa. I can still visit you and write postcards.” Noah got to his feet. “Now I want to go home.”

  
  
  


After an eleven hour flight (Sherlock was admittedly annoyed by Noah’s constant questions. He was not the only one) they finally stepped onto english ground again. John waited for them at arrivals and Sherlock couldn’t help but smile. Noah had fallen asleep an hour before landing and Sherlock was now carrying both the boy and their luggage. Still, they somehow managed a kiss and a hug. John smelled like home and John and Sherlock had missed him so much.

Noah woke in the car and the talking continued as he told John all about India. Finally home, Sherlock was swept off his feet by Rosie and Kat running towards him. The girls didn’t leave his side for the rest of the evening and Sherlock was grateful for it.

  
  
  


Later, Sherlock was sweaty in bed for a whole different reason (He had missed THAT as well), John tightly wrapped around his back.

 

“So, our big man liked India?” John asked, even though it wasn’t really necessary. Noah’s excitement was obvious enough. He hadn’t stopped talking until his eyes had fallen shut from exhaustion.

 

“Hmm, yes. I think… I think it could be a second home for him. He loved it. He felt so comfortable there.” Sherlock turned around in John’s arms and leaned in for a soft kiss.

 

John raised his hand and at Sherlock’s raised eyebrow he explained “High-five for good parenting.” The detective giggled and did as John wished, bringing his hand to kiss mouth to kiss it after.

 

“You are aware that we statistically will fuck at least one of our children up, right?” Sherlock said, and even though it’s said in good humor, he was a little worried.

 

John chuckled, his hands combing through Sherlock’s curls. “Probably. We’ll still love them, though.”

 

“We’re their parents. We’re obligated to.” John kissed him then, still smiling against his lips and Sherlock wondered if it was possible to love someone more than he did love John, the man who had changed his life in so many ways.

 

“What was it like alone  with the girls by the way?” Sherlock asked when their mouths parted again.

 

“Better than I thought. I mean, we missed you and they apparently get a lot more candy from you than I was aware of, but we managed. Rosie is a big help with Kat. She’s so big already. Soon, there will be talk about boys and fashion and stuff. I don’t know if I’m ready for that just yet.”

 

“Maybe she should spend more time with Molly, female influence and all. And they like each other.” Sherlock suggested, burying his face against John’s neck.

 

“I guess that’s possibility, but I guess when it comes to fashion, you’re more of an expert than Molly is. No offence to her.” John turned his head to kiss Sherlock’s forehead, his lips soft and warm. Sherlock closed his eyes.

 

“I’m so glad to be back.”

 

“I’m glad you two are back, too. It’s good to have the whole family together again, even if you were only gone for three weeks.”

 

Sherlock hummed in agreement and after a while they fell asleep, only to wake up a few hours later to another day in their crazy, busy, perfect life.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this is it. The last chapter of the 221B Baker Street Family. This Story, and you guys liking it so much, makes me really proud an motivated me to write for the fandom so much more. I could have never imagined such a positive response and such kind words from you and I am sooo thankful.
> 
> Lots of love
> 
> vany aka strange_johnlock

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/rosiewatsonjohnlock
> 
>  
> 
> buymeacoff.ee/StrJohnlock


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